


I Could Make A Habit Out Of You

by dancinginthecenteroftheworld



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A little bit of everything really, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Multi, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinginthecenteroftheworld/pseuds/dancinginthecenteroftheworld
Summary: A place for prompt fills and other ephemera from Tumblr. I will try to delineate different universes and will note pairings up front.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Addam Marbrand/Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Shireen Baratheon/Rickon Stark
Comments: 163
Kudos: 156





	1. Cakeverse I, J/A/B G

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of Tumblr prompt fills from various occasions. Ratings, warnings, and ships will be noted up top. All unbeta'd, please forgive my typos.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne has forgotten it's her birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was J/A/B, Cake

In all honesty, Brienne has completely forgotten it’s her birthday.

It probably should have occurred to her, but it hasn’t. She gave up celebrating years ago, after several increasingly sad attempts at parties where nobody showed up. And her father loves her, Brienne knows that, but he’s terrible with dates and will probably send a card a few weeks late, full of apologies and a nice check. He tries, which is what counts.

It’s not as good as the years he was dating Jeyne, who kept a detailed calendar and actually cared about trying to be kind to Brienne, and made sure her father sent cards and gifts. But it’s also not as bad as some of the other years, like the ones where he was dating Alysanne, who thought impressing Brienne would get her into Selwyn’s good graces but also had zero idea of who Brienne was and insisted on sending perfume and jewelry and other things that were absolutely ridiculous.

At any rate, Brienne forgets that it’s her birthday and comes home from work expecting to simply collapse on the sofa and argue with Addam and Jaime over what show to watch, as they’ve been doing most nights since they became roommates.

The fact that the apartment smells like sugar is her first clue something is up. That, and the scuffling and whispers coming from the direction of the kitchen.

Then Jaime’s head pops out, blond hair unusually ruffled, and a slightly panicked look on his face.

“Don’t come in yet!” And then he disappears back into the room.

Brienne drops her bag onto the floor by the door and rubs her forehead. Jaime and Addam are her best friends, but there’s a definite tendency towards chaos when they’re left to their own devices.

Brienne shouts that she’s going to go change, and when she comes back in her tee shirt and sweats, Addam and Jaime are standing in front of the kitchen doorway, blocking her view into the room. Jaime’s red tee shirt has flour all over it, and there’s something that looks like whipped cream in Addam’s hair.

“So, this didn’t go quite as planned,” Jaime starts. Addam elbows him.

“Happy Birthday,” Addam says, and he and Jaime step aside so Brienne can see into the kitchen.

She blinks for several seconds, trying to remember that yes, it is her birthday, and also to process the cake sitting on the table, listing slightly to one side.

“We should have gone to a bakery,” Jaime mutters.

“Birthday cakes are supposed to be homemade,” Addam hisses back.

“You guys made this?” To her embarrassment, Brienne feels her eyes watering and a dangerous swelling in her chest.

It’s just a friendly gesture, she knows, but it makes it increasingly difficult to ignore the way her two handsome roommmates make her feel sometimes. The way Jaime’s smile can make her stomach flip or Addam’s laugh makes a shock of pleasure go through her.

They’re her friends, she’s like one of the guys, and Brienne can’t let a cake make her forget that.

“It’s harder than it looks on Westerosi Bakeoff,” Jaime says. He looks almost nervous, which is a very strange look for Jaime.

“Nobody’s ever made me a cake before,” Brienne admits, stepping closer. The frosting is uneven and the blue dye is distributed in a way that looks splotchy. Not unlike Brienne’s face probably looks now, as she turns red just from being the center of attention.

Jaime makes a strange, strangled noise in his throat.

“We forgot candles,” Addam says. He and Jaime are suddenly very close, close enough for Brienne to feel the heat of their bodies. She hopes they aren’t close enough to notice the way she shivers.

“It’s chocolate and raspberry,” Jaime says, and that explains the bit of red Brienne can see seeping out of the middle.

Brienne is alarmed to feel a tear escape from one eye. She is not like this, usually.

“Oh shit,” Jaime says, and he sounds panicked. “You’re not supposed to cry.”

Brienne shakes her head. “It’s just … I don’t think I’ve had a birthday cake since I was five.”

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because suddenly Jaime and Addam are both hugging her in a way that makes Brienne extremely aware of their bodies and how very male they are, and how very feminine she isn’t. Addam has his forehead pressed into her shoulder, and Brienne can feel the muscles of his chest against her back, while the muscles of Jaime’s arms seem to surround her.

“We’ll do better next year,” Jaime says against her neck, and Brienne knows they can both feel the way his breath makes her shudder.

“It’s good,” Brienne says, her voice sounding very faint as both men go extremely still against her.

“But you deserve the best,” Jaime says, raising his head, and it sounds like he’s trying to say something else, but Brienne can’t tell what it is.

“Don’t deny it,” Addam says from behind her, like he can see that she’s opening her mouth to refute Jaime’s statement. “You’re important to us.”

“Very important,” Jaime says, and the air around them suddenly feels thick with tension.

“This was supposed to come after cake,” Addam says, sounding faintly exasperated. His hands move to Brienne’s hip when she shifts uncomfortably, holding her steady.

Brienne only has a moment to wonder what this is, because suddenly Jaime is leaning up to cover her lips with his, and he tastes like he’s been eating the frosting from the cake, sugary and sweet.

“We don’t want to pressure you,” Addam is saying, when Jaime pulls back and Brienne tries to work through her confusion. His hands tighten and relax where he’s still holding onto her.

“But the tension around here has been getting a little ridiculous,” Jaime says, still staring at Brienne’s face, which is probably hitting levels of red never before seen on humans.

“It’s okay if you’re not interested in either of us, or you’re only interested in one of us,” Addam says. Jaime makes a disgruntled noise, and Brienne feels Addam kick him in the shin.

Brienne can only stare at Jaime, feeling utterly lost.

“I think we broke her,” Jaime says, and he at least sounds like himself more now, teasing. Brienne feels Addam laugh against the back of her neck, and then the soft feeling of his lips, unmistakable even though nobody’s ever kissed her neck before.

Until Jaime nobody had kissed her at all before, and it’s overwhelming in the best kind of way.

“I don’t understand,” Brienne says.

“Why don’t we have some cake,” Addam says, stepping away. Brienne tries to stop herself from swaying back to where her back feels suddenly cold. “And we can explain it some more later.”


	2. Dialogue Prompt, Rickon/Shireen, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't how Shireen pictured her day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue prompt from beesreadbooks: “You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

“You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Shireen glares up at the man who is, in fact, holding her in his arms.

“I didn’t faint,” she says.

“No? You just suddenly fall over for no reason?” The man looks far more amused than this situation calls for. It’s worse for the fact that Shireen has noticed him, and has been inching her way closer to him.

He’s very tall and still holding Shireen like she weighs nothing.

Shireen should probably stand up.

“I just got lightheaded,” Shireen says, trying for as much dignity as possible under the circumstances. “I haven’t eaten today.”

The man frowns when she says that, still not letting go. Shireen really should stand up. He’s a very handsome man, with red hair curling a little around his forehead and a smattering of freckles over his nose.

“You should eat,” he says, and then hefts Shireen up so she’s not just leaning into his arms, but cradled in his arms. Which are very nice arms, Shireen can’t help noticing, even as she squeaks and wraps an arm around his shoulder. For stability.

“I’m Rickon,” he says, as he starts walking to … somewhere. Shireen looks behind her.

“I can’t – ” Shireen looks back to where her class is clustered around a cage while a woman even shorter than Shireen is explaining something about wolves. The wolves are busy tearing into some bloody meat the woman had tossed them shortly before Shireen had become slightly woozy.

“Arya has it under control.” Rickon keeps walking, heading towards a small building they’d passed by earlier. Winterfell Wildlife Refuge is bigger than Shireen had anticipated, and has had a lot more walking. “They’ll be better off when their teacher isn’t fainting.”

“I didn’t faint,” Shireen says, somewhat petulantly, as Rickon manages to open the door and then sets her down on a battered sofa. “Fainting makes it sound like I’m some delicate flower who got squeamish.”

Rickon raises his eyebrow.

“I’m not squeamish,” Shireen says. “I just get lightheaded sometimes.”

“When did you last eat?”

Shireen thinks about it, long enough that Rickon makes an exasperated sound.

“If you can’t remember, it’s too long.” He goes to rummage in a small fridge. Shireen tries not to stare too openly at his ass while he’s bent over, but she’s pretty sure she fails.

“You try wrangling twenty-five second-graders,” Shireen says. “I don’t have time for food.”

Rickon looks supremely unimpressed as he turns around, holding a handful of snacks. Shireen sees string cheese, an apple and some sort of sausage. Shireen takes the cheese and apple, while Rickon pulls a knife from somewhere on his person and starts slicing off pieces of sausage.

“But then you faint.”

Shireen scowls at him. Rickon laughs.

“Don’t make me follow you around, princess,” he says. Shireen can feel herself blushing. “I can’t be your knight in shining armor all the time.”

Shireen is trying to think of a retort when a slow smile crosses Rickon’s face. “Of course, I don’t mind trying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I am posting too much fic? I swear this is a lot of catch up and I will return to a reasonable amount soon.


	3. Sansa's Long Night, Nudistverse, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery didn't _say_ Sansa shouldn't open her present in front of her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was Sansa/Margaery, presents. This takes place in the Nudistverse.

For the first time, Sansa feels incredibly sad to be leaving King’s Landing to celebrate the Long Night at Winterfell. Usually she’s thrilled to get to see her family and home, but now all she can think about is leaving Margaery.

Arya makes fun of her endlessly, especially when Sansa and Margaery have trouble parting at the train station, continuing to kiss each other as long as possible, until Sansa has to dash onto the train or get left behind. 

It is good to see her family, though. Jon doesn’t come this year, electing to spend the holiday in King’s Landing – with Ygritte, though he pretends that isn’t why – but everyone else is there. Sansa is especially thrilled to see how much her nephew has grown, because little Eddie is really too far away. She tells Robb and Jeyne that all the time, but Robb just rolls his eyes and tells Sansa she can move back if she wants to see him more. Bran is enthusiastic about the possibility of studying Oldtown next year, and Rickon is just … well, Rickon.

Sansa doesn’t think at all before putting Margaery’s gift under the tree with everything else. In retrospect, she probably should have. Margaery didn’t say it should be opened in private, but Sansa has already learned that Margaery’s family is a lot more open about things than the Starks.

Unfortunately, Sansa is not quick enough to slam the lid back on the box before anyone gets a glimpse of what’s inside. 

“Who gave you lingerie?” Rickon asks, at top volume because Rickon is a little shit. 

Sansa’s father turns an interesting shade of crimson, as does Robb. Arya starts laughing, and Sansa throws a wad of paper at her.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Cat says, looking less uncomfortable than Ned, but only barely.

Rickon snatches the wrapping away from Sansa before she can grab it back.

Which distracts Sansa long enough for Arya to pull the box away, because Arya is also a little shit, and open it up, exposing not just the (very pretty) green, lacey garments but what is underneath them.

Sansa’s father sounds like he’s choking.

“Margaery,” Rickon reads out loud, as Sansa lunges for the box and pulls it away from Arya, putting the top back on again.

It’s definitely something she and Margaery have talked about, but it’s not anything Sansa expected to find in a Christmas gift. 

“That sounds like a girl’s name,” Robb says and Jeyne lets out a sigh.

“It is,” Arya confirms. 

“But Sansa’s a girl,” Robb says slowly, and Jeyne drops her face into her hands.

“Lesbians exist, Robb,” Bran says, at the same time that Catelyn says

“Margaery?” in a voice higher than Sansa has ever heard.

“We’ve been seeing each other for a while,” Sansa says, carefully putting the box next to her and piling other gifts on top. 

“Oh,” Sansa’s mother says.

“They can’t stop sucking face,” Arya says. “It’s gross.”

Now Robb sounds like he’s choking. Jeyne thumps him on the back.

Little Eddie babbles and reaches for some tissue paper. Little Eddie is definitely Sansa’s favorite family member.

“I didn’t know that you were …” Cat trails off. 

“I didn’t realize until recently,” Sansa says carefully. She really did not plan on coming out like this. 

“And it’s clearly serious,” Ned says. He looks like he wants to erase the past few minutes from his memory. Sansa kind of does too.

“I don’t think Sansa’s spent more than two nights at the house since August,” Arya says, continuing to laugh. “After Margaery kissed her.”

“Ned, didn’t you notice?” Cat asks. Ned looks vaguely panicked. 

“I’ve been working late a lot,” he says, and if looks could kill Sansa’s father would definitely be in critical condition right now.

“Handcuffs are kind of kinky,” Rickon says. “Are we sure she knows she’s dating Sansa?”

“Rickon!“ Cat’s voice is strangled. 

Sansa is torn between wanting to defend herself as not hopelessly vanilla and wanting to never, ever discuss her sex life with her family again. 

“Which one of you would wear the cuffs and which one the di-” Sansa slaps her hand over Rickon’s mouth before he can finish his sentence. 

“Sansa with a strap-on,” Arya snickers, and Sansa buries her face in her hands. She loves Margaery, she loves Margaery very much, but she might kill her when she gets back to King’s Landing.

“Mom,” Sansa says sweetly, ignoring the way her mother’s mouth is gaping open and her father’s face is turning purple. “Has Arya told you about Gendry yet?”


	4. Meet the Family, Small Town Westeros, Rickon/Shireen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shireen is not what the Starks are expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request was for the Starks meeting Shireen in the small town 'verse. This skips ahead quite a bit, and has some minor spoilers if you look hard. But it's a variant of something that happens in the show so it shouldn't be too surprising.

Once Rickon decides to bring Shireen to dinner, word spread through the Starks and Stark-adjacent people like wildfire. There’s no way anyone wants to miss it, even if they don’t already know about Shireen, because all of Rickon’s previous dates have been explosions of epic proportions. There’s even more people than the first time Robb brought Talisa, and Jon definitely thought that was going to be the biggest Stark dinner of the year.

Ygritte is grinning like crazy when they get to the house. Everyone is early, of course. Aunt Cat is keeping an eagle eye on Sansa and Margaery, and not-so-subtly trailing them every time they leave the room. Robb and Talisa are huddled together by the fireplace, whispering to each other, while Bran has brought Jojen _and_ Meera, although Jon isn’t entirely sure if that’s because of the drama or because Bran is still too chicken to ask Meera out directly and invites them everywhere as a pair to avoid it. 

Uncle Edmure and Grandfather are sipping glasses of scotch and comparing notes on the various people Grandfather’s seen in court, contemplating which one of them Rickon might bring. Ygritte starts giggling uncontrollably when she hears that, and has to sit down and lean on Gilly, who is leaning on Sam because she’s similarly afflicted. Even Gendry is there, and Arya tries to avoid bringing him around as much as possible, even though everyone knows they aren’t a fake-relationship anymore. Well. It’s possible Arya still hasn’t figured it out, but Jon thinks she knows deep down. 

“Sansa said she’s a teacher,” Ned murmurs to Uncle Benjen. Uncle Benjen snorts.

“A teacher of what?” Benjen asks, rolling his eyes. “Pole dancing? Advanced marijuana rolling?”

Theon looks up at the word marijuana, then drops his head back down when none appears. Jon thinks Benjen is being a little unfair, because Jon knows he has a stash hidden away at his vacation cabin.

Jon sits next to Ygritte, who slides her hand up his leg. It’s a testament to how distracted everyone is that Cat doesn’t even give them a dirty look. Although that could be because Margaery’s hand seems to be sliding up under Sansa’s shirt. 

You’d think those two would be through the constantly horny stage by now.

Asha starts cackling when the doorbell rings and everyone freezes. Cat takes a deep breath before going to answer it and everyone crowds into the doorway to watch. 

“You could try to be subtle,” Ned says, like he isn’t there with the rest of them. 

Rickon is telling Shireen they don’t need to ring the bell and Shireen is scolding him that she’s a guest and it’s polite, when Cat opens the door. 

Jon can tell from the way his aunt’s back stiffens that she’s not sure what’s going on. 

Everyone scatters back to their seats as Cat leads Shireen and Rickon back to the den, looking shell-shocked. Shireen looks like she usually does, all sweet cardigans and floral dresses, and Cat is holding a bouquet of flowers Shireen must have brought as a hostess gift.

“This is Shireen,” Rickon says. Ned chokes on his drink. Grandfather Hoster reaches to adjust his glasses. “Shireen, you know most of these assholes already.”

Asha produces popcorn from somewhere and starts passing it around. Benjen looks like he wants to poke Shireen to see if she’s real. 

“Shireen,” Ned says slowly. “Shireen who’s dating my son?”

Shireen nods, and says how pleased she is to meet Rickon’s family. Jon has to give her credit for not buckling under pressure. 

The pole dancer hadn’t even lasted three minutes. 

“Our youngest son,” Cat clarifies. “Rickon.”

Shireen grins and grips Rickon’s arm as she affirms the fact. Rickon leans down and kisses her on the top of her head in a gesture that is surprisingly gentle.

Jon’s aunt and uncle, as well as the other adult relatives, don’t look any less confused as dinner proceeds. Shireen’s manners are unsurprisingly impeccable, and she’s sweet and kind as she talks about her work as an elementary school teacher. Cat barely touches the food on her plate, looking back and forth between Shireen and Rickon like she might be hallucinating. 

“Well wasn’t it lucky I got the flu,” Uncle Byrnden says, puffing his chest out. “I had no idea I was facilitating young love.”

Shireen, who has just told the story of how she and Rickon met, smiles beautifully and sets her hand over Rickon’s. Rickon turns his to lace their fingers together, and Benjen’s fork clatters when he drops it.

“You’re really dating,” Cat says, suddenly, in the middle of the meal. “I mean, this isn’t a prank?”

Shireen starts to look slightly annoyed, but wipes the expression from her face quickly. 

“Rickon is wonderful,” Shireen says firmly. “I care about him very much.” 

“How long have you been together?” Ned asks, looking like he’s going to have to break terrible news to Shireen.

“Four months,” Shireen says, at the same time Rickon says “Three and a half months.” 

“I hadn’t officially asked you out yet,” Rickon says, looking down at Shireen with a look Jon can only describe as besotted. Arya makes a little gagging sound and Gendry shoves a roll in her mouth. 

“But we were headed that way,” Shireen says. “I still count Littlefinger’s.”

A faint flush rises in her cheeks at that and Rickon gets a much more characteristic smirk that makes Jon more confident he hasn’t been replaced with a pod person. Jon doesn’t think he wants to know what happened at Littlefinger’s, though Ygritte is mumbling something very different under her breath. 

“Four months,” Ned says, faintly. “Really.”

“Wait,” Grandfather Hoster says suddenly, from where he’s been silent. “I DO know your name.”

“I knew it couldn’t be true,” Emdure mutters.

“You volunteer as a child advocate,” Hoster continues, looking down at Shireen. “What is it, five years now?”

Wine spreads over the tablecloth where Edmure has dropped his glass. 

Shireen nods, and starts a side conversation with Hoster while Rickon smirks at Cat and Ned. 

“Did you know about this?” Cat demands, looking at the rest of her children. And Theon. 

“I told you she was a teacher,” Sansa says, like she hadn’t deliberately underplayed it. 

“Shireen’s great,” Margaery says. “She’s so sweet.”

“Well, she’s got a spicy side,” Ygritte says slyly. “Mildly spicy, anyway.”

“What’s the big deal?” Arya asks. 

“She knows she’s dating Rickon,” Ned says. “Right?”

“Trust me, she knows,” Talisa says dryly. “Starks are pretty obvious.”

Asha snorts. 

“She’s nice,” Theon says, slowly. “But I guess Rickon’s into it.” 

“Into messing her up,” Asha mutters, and high-fives Ygritte across the table. 

Gilly is earnestly assuring Cat of how loving Shireen and Rickon’s relationship, while Sam nods his support. 

“Did Robb and Rickon switch places?” Cat asks. She looks between her sons. Robb makes a disgruntled noise. “Is this a Freaky Friday thing?” 

“They’re happy,” Sansa says, rolling her yes. “Just take it, Mom.” 

“There has to be a catch,” Ned mutters, and that’s the last thing Jon hears before Ygritte decides to ask Shireen about the classroom project Rickon is helping her with and all hell breaks loose again. 

Definitely the best dinner of the year.


	5. Unexpected, J/A/B, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne thought she'd be ready for this. She isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was J/A/B, pregnancy.

Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.

Except no, not unexpected exactly.

Brienne stares at the white stick sitting on the coffee table. It definitely has a plus sign. Clear as can be.

Jaime’s hand tightens on hers so tight it almost hurts. Addam seems to be hyperventilating slightly. 

“I thought it was supposed to take a while,” Addam says, sounding a little like he’s going to cry. 

“Cersei said it took her and Robert a year,” Jaime says. 

Brienne stares at the stick again. “I can take another one,” she offers.

Jaime looks toward the pile of already used tests on the corner of the coffee table, all displaying positive results. “I think we’ve probably done enough.”

“It’s only been a month,” Brienne says. She puts her free hand over her stomach. It doesn’t feel any different. Just a stomach, relatively flat and firm. 

“It’s so fast,” Addam says. He puts his hand over Brienne’s, solid and reassuring. 

“Well, we have been putting in a lot of effort,” Jaime says. He slides his hand over both of theirs. 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Brienne says. She’s read all the books, they all say there’s a very small window of fertility and that they shouldn’t expect to get pregnant right away.

Except Brienne went off her birth control pills a month ago, and the pile of pregnancy tests on the coffee table aren’t lying. They’ve said they won’t worry about it, but she can’t help wondering which one of them is the father. Biologically, at least. They will both be the baby’s fathers, in every way that matters. 

“We’re having a baby,” Addam says, still sounding like he can’t believe it’s happening. 

It certainly doesn’t feel real to Brienne, but then her life for the past few years has felt like some sort of extended daydream. Falling in love, not just once, but twice, with two kind, wonderful, devastatingly handsome men who somehow love her back, and love each other. When they’d decided to try for a baby, Brienne had figured she’d have time to keep getting used to the idea.

Not that she doesn’t want a baby, but it’s something she thought wasn’t possible for her for so long that she has trouble wrapping her head around it sometimes. 

“A baby,” Jaime confirms. “Our baby.” 

Well, at least there are nine months to get ready.


	6. Riding North, J/A/B, M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts in the Westerlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was any permutation of J/A/B

It starts somewhere in the Westerlands. Jaime has gone to try and convince as many Lannister troops as possible to disobey Cersei and join the fight against the dead. Lady Sansa has sent Brienne with him, to ensure it isn’t a trick. 

Some of the Lannister troops turn their backs, but most are surprisingly willing to follow Jaime as the rightful Lord of Casterly Rock, and not the crown. That’s how Brienne meets Addam Marbrand, who hugs Jaime with a familiarity Brienne has rarely seen. 

Brienne has shared Jaime’s tent since the nights have grown colder, sometimes with Podrick bunking down as well, which limits rumors of impropriety. As if Brienne wasn’t dogged by whispers of “Kingslayer’s whore” already. But once the Lannister troops join them and they all start back north again, Addam takes Pod’s place.

Brienne finds she genuinely likes Addam. He’s witty, but less biting than Jaime can be and he’s quick to smile and laugh. Addam also brings out aspects of Jaime Brienne has never seen before, a softness and ease that makes Jaime seem younger.

Brienne thinks she must be seeing glimpses of who Jaime was before Cersei sank her claws so deeply into him. 

They take turns sleeping in the middle of the bedrolls, where it’s warmest. Brienne does her best to ignore whatever awkward moments arise. She’s been in camps long enough to hear plenty of talk from men, and she knows that some things just … happen, without any reason. Which seems like a terrible design when it comes to anatomy, but Brienne tries not to dwell on it too much. Thinking about Jaime and Addam that way makes her feel too hot and itchy, like something is smoldering under her skin. 

Even after several weeks of travel, even after they’re all more than a little ripe from not being able to bathe it’s so cold, Brienne feels an aching, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach when she lies between them. When she feels Jaime pressed against her back, his arm around her waist, when she feels something hard and thick pressing against her ass. When Addam shifts sleepily against her front, nuzzling his nose into her collarbone and his thigh sliding between hers. 

It makes Brienne ache between her thighs, makes her wonder what unnaturalness about her prompts such wanton responses. Bedding is a wife’s duty, Brienne knows, but nobody’s ever said anything about how the idea could make her feel like she’s being turned inside out, like she needs something she can’t quite name. 

It’s frustrating enough after several nights that Brienne can’t help tilting her hips when Addam’s leg worms between her own, the pressure sending a bolt of pleasure through her. It’s such a surprise Brienne gasps, and of course that’s when Addam’s eyes fly open. 

Brienne feels heat rising in her cheeks, staring right at him. There’s no chance of pretending she was asleep, not when her face is giving her awareness away. She tenses, waiting for Addam to push her away in disgust, to tell her how terrible and slatternly she is being. 

Except Addam doesn’t push her away, Addam just keeps looking in Brienne’s eyes and very slowly shifts his leg, pressing his thigh upwards and rubbing it against Brienne. 

Brienne can’t help the way her hips move in response, the way she shivers. It’s so distracting she doesn’t notice Jaime waking up, not until his arm has already tightened around her waist and his voice is sleepy and rough in her ear. 

“Having fun without me?” Jaime drawls and Brienne’s whole body jerks in response. 

“I’m sorry,” Brienne says, forcing herself to be still. It feels like the most difficult thing she’s ever done, especially when Jaime tilts his hips forward, pressing into her. 

“What for?” Addam asks. His voice is rough too, from sleep and something else, maybe, that Brienne has heard in other men, when they seek out willing women. 

“It’s improper,” Brienne says. She fights the urge to move, although she’s not sure if it would be to run away or to push herself further into one of their arms. 

Jaime snorts behind her. “Since when are any of us proper?”

“Speak for yourself,” Addam retorts, but it lacks any heat. He moves his leg again, rubbing slowly against Brienne. 

“Women aren’t supposed to …” Brienne starts.

“Women aren’t supposed to carry swords,” Jaime says. He pauses and then Brienne feels something warm and wet on her neck. His mouth, she realizes, as he grazes his teeth against her and she shudders again. “And you do. Magnificently.”

“We can make sure you’re still a maid,” Addam says. 

“At least until we manage a bath and an actual bed,” Jaime mumbles against Brienne’s skin. He sucks at her neck, and it feels like there’s a sudden, direct connection from Brienne’s neck to the place between her legs. 

“Soldiers help each other out all the time,” Addam says softly. “Although Jaime and I tend to be more selective.”

Something about the way he says it gives Brienne pause. Jaime has said Cersei is the only woman he’s ever lain with. Woman. 

“Have you ….?”

“Helped each other?” Addam finishes, as Brienne loses the thought to the feeling of Jaime’s lips on every bit of skin he can reach. “A time or two.”

Brienne can’t stop the noise she makes, the sudden image of Jaime and Addam together, the way she’s sometimes seen men in camps when the women are scarce. Jaime groans against her neck and moves his hand, sliding it up under the loose tunic Brienne wears to sleep. It feels like burning against her skin, in the best kind of way. 

“We can help you too,” Addam says. 

Brienne can’t bring herself to say it in words, but she nods, suddenly uncaring of what terrible things this says about her, about another way she is failing at womanhood.

Addam grins at her, bright and eager before moving forward and kissing her. Brienne has had men try to steal kisses from her as a jape, a dare, but those attempts have been sloppy and unappealing. Addam’s lips are warm and soft, and when he teases her mouth with his tongue until she opens to him, it only feels good.

Brienne can feel both of them now, moving slowly against each other. Jaime behind her, Addam against her thigh and she blushes to think what she’s feeling, what they’re mimicking. Brienne is surprised by how noisy it is, about the little sounds she makes despite her efforts, the moans and groans from Jaime and Addam, the rustling of their clothing together. 

She’s less surprised that Jaime can’t seem to stop talking even when they’re – well, whatever it is they’re doing, it’s not quite a bedding, really. He whispers words into her skin, half nonsense, half praises about how good it feels, how good it is. 

Brienne thinks he must be desperate, if his palm over her meager breast is enough to spark such words, even as it sends more bolts of pleasure through her. She loses track of how long they stay like that, how long she trades kisses, only knows at some point, strong arms turn her over, and she’s facing Jaime, kissing Jaime while Addam thrusts against her from behind. 

Something spirals tighter inside Brienne, and it’s almost frightening but Jaime seems to sense it and rubs his hand along her side like he’s gentling a horse. It’s such an odd, sweet moment in the middle of something Brienne can only describe as improper and it makes her heart clench in ways she absolutely shouldn’t allow. “Just let go,” Jaime tells her, staring into Brienne’s eyes like she’s the one he really wants to see. “Let yourself feel, Brienne, let us make you feel good.” 

And Brienne can’t deny Jaime, she can’t and suddenly everything inside her seems to be bubbling up all at once, until she’s trembling and weak. 

Something similar seems to happen with both men, as they both thrust harder and quicker against her before stilling and then going limp on either side of her. Addam doesn’t even move his hand from under her tunic, still cupping Brienne’s breast, absently running his thumb over her nipple, as they drift off into sleep.

The last thing Brienne hears is Jaime declaring they should do this every night until they reach Winterfell. 


	7. Exhausted Reporterverse I J/B M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne hasn't done laundry and now she's stuck in an awkward situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from teaandbanjo: A prompt (if you haven't got enough of them already): Jamie and Brienne are roommates. If Jaime hasn't done laundry recently, sometimes he borrows her t-shirts or sweat pants or whatever. This time, however, Brienne has just been way too busy, and all her underwear is dirty.

Jaime borrows her clothes all the time. No matter how much Brienne yells at him for it. So borrowing Jaime’s clothes should, in theory, not be all that weird. After all, Brienne would have more clean clothes herself, if half her tee shirts and a good chunk of her sweat pants hadn’t disappeared into Jaime’s closet. 

It’s just the matter of which article of clothing Brienne needs that is giving her pause.

This is what happens when you work too many twelve hour days in a row. You run out of clean clothes. Brienne should have learned this lesson last election season, but apparently she hasn’t. 

And now her underwear drawer is empty, and while Brienne can justify re-wearing a sweater, jeans, even her dress pants, recycling dirty underwear is a bridge too far. 

She could go commando, a voice in her head suggests. The voice sounds a lot like Margaery, who would undoubtedly forgo underwear without a care. 

Brienne just can’t, though. The idea makes her feel so uncomfortable, and she knows with her luck, the one day in her life she skips underwear would be the day she gets in a car accident or tears her pants on set. 

So she’s in Jaime’s room, staring at his open dresser drawer while wrapped in a bath towel that barely goes past her hips, because all her extra large bath sheets have also somehow disappeared. 

Brienne is going to yell at Jaime next time she sees him, she really is. But right now the more pressing issues is finding underwear and making it to work in time for another long, exhausting day.

The rows of boxer briefs look somehow intimidating. Brienne tells herself it will be just like her usual boyshorts. And Jaime won’t even know, considering how little attention he pays to things like laundry. She can wash them when she finally gets around to doing her own clothes and slip them back in the drawer. 

Never mind that thinking about putting something Jaime has worn against his naked skin, against very personal areas of his naked skin, makes Brienne feel a little light-headed. 

Except that as soon as Brienne gathers the courage to step into a pair of black briefs and pull them up, the door to the room swings open behind her. She hears it, just like she hears the sharp intake of breath from Jaime. 

Brienne stares at the wall in front of her. Maybe if she doesn’t say anything, Jaime will just turn around go away and they can just pretend this never happened. 

Brienne is not that lucky. 

“Are you wearing my underwear?” Jaime’s voice sounds strained and Brienne is reminded that this is very much not a normal roommate thing to do. Especially when your roommate is a different gender. Especially when you haven’t asked.

“I”m sorry,” Brienne’s hand hovers over her hip, the other one clutching her towel tighter. She feels like she should take them off, but she also feels like that is an even worse idea. “I’m out of clean laundry and you always steal my clothes.”

“I don’t steal your underwear.” Jaime’s voice sounds closer. Brienne hunches in on herself, wondering if she can some how make herself small enough to slip by him unnoticed. 

“I’m sorry,” Brienne says again. She’s going to have to move. Which is a shame, because she really likes this apartment, it’s so close to work and has great light and she’s going to miss it a lot when she goes. “I shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t say that.” Jaime’s voice is even closer, yet Brienne still jumps when he settles his hands over her hips. “Have you borrowed my underwear before?”

“No,” Brienne manages to get out, thankful that at least she can give a reasonable answer. 

“But you’re wearing it now.” Jaime’s breath is hot against Brienne’s neck.

Brienne nods, slightly and then feels Jaime’s forehead against her hair as he groans. Jaime’s hands flex on her hips. Brienne isn’t sure what’s going on. 

“Fuck, Brienne,” Jaime breathes. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Brienne’s voice has deserted her entirely and she just shakes her head. 

“I shouldn’t be jealous of a piece of fabric,” Jaime says and Brienne’s brain flat-lines momentarily because that doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. 

Jaime pulls her back against him and Brienne might not have ever felt a man’s cock before but there’s no mistaking what’s pressing up against her. She gasps despite herself and feels Jaime wrap one arm around her waist, pulling her tighter. 

“How come it gets to touch you?” Jaime mutters. “When I don’t?”

Brienne wonders if the buzzing in her ears is real or if this is all some strange hallucination. Maybe she’s actually lying on the floor of her room, half-conscious. 

“I don’t understand,” she finally gets out. 

“What’s to understand?” Jaime rocks his hips against her, nuzzles his nose against her neck. “You wearing my underwear is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen it,” Brienne points out, before the sentence registers. Because she’s still got a towel on. And she’s pretty sure the door didn’t open until she was basically done pulling them on.

She hopes the door didn’t open until she was done. 

“Will you show me?” Jaime spins her around then, facing him and Brienne searches his face for a sign of what’s going on. It has to be a joke, it has to be, but Jaime’s eyes are dark as he stares at her, his lips parted and his breath coming slightly faster than usual. “It’s only fair.” 

His hands move to the edges of her towel as he talks, slow enough that Brienne could stop him if she wanted to. Even with one hand still clutching the top of the towel around her chest. She should stop him. 

Brienne doesn’t stop him, as Jaime pulls the edges of the towel apart and drops his gaze.

Brienne can’t help following where he looks, wonders what he’s seeing as he looks down, the front looser than she’s used to, her thick thighs making the legs fit with no problem. She hasn’t shaved, and there’s a fuzz of white blond hair scattered across her pale skin and stubborn freckles. 

The noise Jaime makes is not one Brienne imagined a man would ever make around her. 

“Fuck,” Jaime says, and keeps staring. 

“I have to go to work,” Brienne finally says, because she’s getting increasingly confused standing there. 

Increasingly aroused, too, and she hopes it isn’t noticeable. 

Jaime lets her go, and Brienne fixes her eyes at a spot over his shoulder as she starts to step around him. 

“I’ll give them back after I wash them,” she says, hoping to restore some sense of normalcy to this strange situation. Which can’t possibly mean what it seems like it means. “Or not. I can throw them out.”

“Give them back.” Jaime catches her wrist before she can get too far. “But Brienne?”

Brienne still doesn’t look at him, though she turns slightly to show she’s listening.

“Don’t wash them.”


	8. Disgruntled Soulmates, J/B, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne has given up on her soulmate when it happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was disgruntled soulmates.

Brienne is so happy when her soulmark appears. She’s been so sure she wouldn’t get one she can’t even bring herself to check when she wakes up on her 15th birthday. But she comes down to breakfast and her father pushes up her sleeve and there it is, on her wrist, JL in fancy cursive script.

Brienne isn’t surprised when her soulmark stays a dull, flat black for many years. First of all, she doesn’t know anyone with the initials JL so she can’t have met them yet. Second of all, she’s not convinced it isn’t some mistake.

Never mind that there’s never been a case where soulmarks are mistaken, Brienne wouldn’t be at all shocked to be the first. There are tragedies, sure, people who die before meeting or shortly after, people who choose to ignore their mark and love somebody else. But no recorded mistakes, no mis-matched marks.

By the time Brienne is 22, she’s largely forgotten about her soulmark. Any joy she might have had over the idea that there’s someone out there for her is buried under the reality of moving through the world as an awkward, overly tall woman. If her soulmate does meet her, Brienne imagines they’ll decide to pretend the whole thing never happens.

Which is why she doesn’t make the connection right away, scratching absently at her wrist as she sits across the desk from a bank employee in a very expensive suit, trying to plead her case for a loan.

Brienne feels even more ridiculous than usual, her cheap, purchased last minute suit stretched too tight across her broad shoulders and too loose everywhere else, her lips feeling waxy from the lipstick Sansa had insisted she put on. 

Sansa, of course, looks perfectly at ease next to Brienne, like she wears her fancy dress and suit every day, even though Brienne knows she doesn’t. 

It doesn’t help that the loan manager assigned to them is absurdly handsome, the kind of beautiful that makes you stop and wonder if a person who looks like that can possibly be real. He keeps staring at Brienne’s lips – she must have chewed her lipstick off in weird patterns again. Sansa always scolds her about that.

It’s Sansa who puts it together first, stopping mid-sentence and looking back and forth between Brienne and the man across the desk.

“Your wrists,” Sansa breathes, her voice delighted.

Brienne notices the man has been scratching at his, too. She looks at his nameplate. Jaime Lannister. JL.

Brienne shakes her head on reflex, but Jaime starts unbuttoning his cuff and rolling back his sleeve. It’s far too attractive for such a simple action.

Sansa squeals, and Brienne can see even from across the desk, BT on Jaime’s wrists, shimmering in a deep blue.

Sansa rolls up Brienne’s sleeve before Brienne can object, and sure enough, the JL is no longer a dull black but a shimmering emerald green.

“You?” Jaime says, and there’s no mistaking the derision in his voice. 

“It’s so romantic,” Sansa says. “Brienne, aren’t you glad you agreed to come here and see about a loan?”

Brienne is not, actually, because she just wants to open a gym with Sansa, not be rejected by her soulmate. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” Brienne says. She makes herself meet Jaime’s gaze, hold her head up. “I understand if you want to pursue other people.”

Jaime actually looks puzzled at that. “We’re marked,” he says, as if that explains it all.

Brienne shrugs. It’s not common for people to reject their soulmates, but it’s not unheard of, not like it used to be. Although. Now that Brienne looks at Jaime, he does seem quite a bit older than her.

“What are you, 22?” Jaime says, echoing Brienne’s thoughts as he looks back down at their paperwork. “Gods, you’re practically a child.”

“I am not,” Brienne argues. Jaime just looks amused for a minute, then closes the folder on his desk.

“Under the circumstances, I’m sure you ladies understand why we’ll need to postpone this meeting,” Jaime says. 

Sansa is still practically vibrating with glee as they stand, seemingly unaware of the disaster unfolding.

“Of course,” Sansa says. She hugs Brienne and starts toward the door. Brienne is following when Jaime’s voice stops her.

“I really do understand if you’d like to pretend this never happened,” Brienne says. Jaime is standing behind his desk, his fists clenched as he rests them on the surface. 

“We’re marked,” Jaime says, like he thinks Brienne is being stupid on purpose.

“Yes, I know,” Brienne finally snaps. “But you don’t seem exactly thrilled.”

“Well, you’re not jumping for joy either.” Jaime stares hard at Brienne. “You’ll need to meet my father, but we need to do something first, about …” He gestures at Brienne.

“Excuse me?” Brienne can’t help the way her voice climbs to a higher pitch.

“I’m a Lannister,” Jaime says,and gestures expansively to the offices. “We have an image to maintain.”

“Well, I’m not a Lannister,” Brienne says. “And I’m not going to pretend to be someone else.”

“You’ll be one soon enough,” Jaime shoots back. 

Brienne blinks. But it seems he’s serious. Jaime really is intending to honor their marks and see this through.

It’s going to be a nightmare.


	9. Exhausted Reporterverse II, J/B, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is going to forget the entire conversation ever happened. If it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are gonna get a lot of this 'verse on account of election years bringing up bad memories. Or possibly creating new ones. 
> 
> Help me, I'm tired.

It is, of course, another long day. Sixteen hours this time, before they gave up and sent everyone home. As far as Brienne’s concerned, the Iowa caucus needs to be done already, not that anything will really slow down after. Or not that there’s any timeline on results. But no matter how exhausted Brienne is when she stumbles through the door at eight pm, she forces herself to gather her dirty clothes and head the laundry room.

She is not going through another incident like the one this morning.

Brienne is half-convinced she imagined the entire thing.

Margaery and Sansa are gleeful about it. Brienne had broken down and told them after both women pestered her about why she was being so weird, somewhere around 5:30 as they stuffed vending machine packages of chips and snack cakes in their faces for ‘dinner.’

The bare bones of it anyway, Brienne having to borrow the underwear and Jaime’s strange request about giving it back, because apparently he’s not done mocking her.

Brienne didn’t mention the rest of the conversation. She’s still not sure she didn’t just make it all up in her head.

Actually, Brienne definitely made it up in her head. Because there’s no way Jaime said any of those things. Jaime, who still looks like half a god when Brienne has seen him sick and exhausted. There’s no way Jaime, of all people, said that it was … sexy. Or that he was jealous.

It’s just not possible.

He’s mocking her, that has to be it. No matter how much Margaery and Sansa think she should believe it, how much they insist she should actually give him back the dirty underwear. Which, ew. It’s gross.

Although, according to Margaery, it’s a thing, guys and dirty underwear. Brienne is too scared to Google it.

Jaime was mocking Brienne and her uncharacteristic lack of planning. That’s all. Anything else was an exhaustion-induced hallucination. That’s all that’s possible. Men like Jaime don’t get aroused by Brienne, don’t say things like that, don’t push their … nope. Nothing happened.

Brienne falls asleep leaning on the washing machine, only waking up when the dryer buzzes far too loudly.

When she changes back into her clothes, her pajamas and her own underwear, Brienne very deliberately tosses the pair she’s wearing into the hamper.

It’s a prank or it’s a hallucination and either way, Brienne is putting a stop to it now.


	10. Exhausted Reporterverse III, J/B, E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime catches Brienne wearing a thong. Things go from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a Valentine's bingo square, "Character A catches Character B wearing a thong" and also for Facesitting February.

The next time Brienne forgets to do her laundry — because of course there’s a next time — she yanks her pants on with nothing underneath and texts Sansa in desperation. 

Brienne is not going to repeat what happened last time, she’s not going to borrow anything of Jaime’s. Not when she still isn’t sure what happened before, or when he’d come to reclaim his clothing, the way they’d …

Things like that don’t happen to Brienne. Hot men don’t touch her, don’t kiss her, don’t want her. It doesn’t fit into any reality Brienne understands, and so she’s going to ignore it.

Eventually the world will make sense again.

Maybe after the election. She always goes a little crazy in election years, this might just be another poor decision, like the time she gained thirty pounds from eating pizza for every meal for several weeks straight. 

Sansa being Sansa, the underwear she brings Brienne is a thong. Which is … not a garment Brienne has ever wanted to wear and not one she ever will wear again if she can help it. Thongs are exactly as uncomfortable as Brienne imagined they would be. 

But it’s underwear and it’s clean and it isn’t going to cause any awkward moments with her too-handsome-for-his-own-good roommate.

Except.

Except Brienne is getting ready for bed, her laundry in the dryer where she can collect it in the morning, when Jaime bursts into her room, not caring for silly things like closed doors. 

“Is that a _thong_?” 

Brienne slaps her arm over her breasts, even though her back is to the door (and now Jaime) and sighs. “Have you not heard of knocking?”

“Overrated.” Jaime sounds positively gleeful. “I never pictured you as a thong kind of woman.”

“It’s not mine.” Brienne wonders if she can get a tee shirt from her drawer without moving her arm or turning in a way that Jaime can see anything. Not that Brienne has much for him to see. 

“Laundry day?” Brienne can hear the smirk in Jaime’s voice. “Why didn’t you borrow mine again?” 

“Jaime ….”

“Brienne.” Jaime’s voice is getting closer, and Brienne knows he’s not going to let this go. “Why didn’t you? You know how much I like you in my clothes.”

Brienne sighs. She tries to will herself not to blush, but of course it doesn’t work. 

“Even your back blushes.” 

Brienne knows he’s been walking toward her, but she still jumps when Jaime traces his finger down her spine, stopping just above her ass, where the thong rests. 

“Though this is pretty good too.” Jaime runs his finger across the string of her underwear, tracing over Brienne’s hips. 

“I’m too tired and stressed for your games, Jaime.” Brienne just wants to put on her pajamas and go to sleep. Blessed, blessed sleep. It’s even Friday, so she can sleep in tomorrow. 

“Didn’t we talk about stress relief last time?” Jaime grips Brienne’s hips with one hand, the other finger coming around to trace at the front of her underwear. It’s very, very small underwear. Brienne should probably have gotten waxed before wearing it. Not that she planned on wearing anything this small. Her stomach muscles clench and she feels a surge of wetness between her legs. 

“I can help you out,” Jaime whispers into her ear. Brienne can’t stop the full body shudder when he nips at her earlobe, then soothes the sting with his tongue. “Again.”

Brienne had been clothed last time. So had Jaime. Jaime still is clothed this time, and Brienne is wearing the tiniest underwear known to mankind. 

Jaime rests his hand against her stomach, spreading his fingers to touch as much skin as possible. “Let me help you, Brienne.”

It’s positively unfair for Jaime to have a voice that’s as sinful as he looks. Brienne feels like a fly caught in a web, unable to say no even when she knows she should. Knows this can’t be real, knows there has to be a catch somewhere.

“Good girl.” Jaime slides his hand up, tugs her arm away from her breasts and presses kisses to her neck and shoulder as he rolls a nipple between his fingers. Brienne can’t help the small sounds escaping her throat as Jaime strokes across her skin, stopping to pinch her other nipple, making her arch her back.

Brienne is hardly aware they’re moving, Jaime shuffling them both closer to her bed. She only notices when Jaime moves from behind her, her back feeling cold and exposed. Brienne hopes he doesn’t notice the way she sways back toward his warmth. He probably does. 

Brienne can’t help covering herself again while Jaime flops down on the bed, Brienne standing awkwardly to one side. Jaime makes a disgruntled noise.

“Don’t hide yourself.” Jaime sits up to grasp Brienne’s thighs, tugging her forward until she’s straddling his lap. Brienne tries not to notice the rather prominent bulge in his pajama pants, not letting herself grind against it like she wants to. 

Jaime pulls her closer still with a hand behind her back, sucking her nipple into his mouth while his hand toys at the other one. His mouth is suction and heat and Brienne didn’t know she could feel like that, like there’s an invisible string of pleasure running straight through her. She whimpers when Jaime pulls away and lies flat, hesitating.

“Come on.” Jaime tugs at the back of her thighs, urging her forward. Brienne doesn’t understand what he’s doing, not until he keeps urging her forward and gets one knee over his shoulder.

Brienne gasps. “Jaime!”

“Yes, you’ll be saying that a lot.” Jaime smirks up at her. Brienne feels almost faint at the sight of him, golden hair spread out, looking up at her. He turns his head to kiss the inside of her knee and Brienne feels her legs shake.

“I’ll suffocate you.” 

“No, you won’t.” Jaime nips and sucks at the inside of Brienne’s thigh. “And if you do, put that I died the happiest man in King’s Landing on my tombstone.”

Brienne huffs a sigh.

Jaime’s voice suddenly turns serious. “Trust me, Brienne. Please.”

It’s the please that does it, and Brienne lets Jaime pull her other leg forward. He inhales deeply and Brienne feels a surge of shame, wondering how sweaty she is, realizing he’ll see the wetness she can feel starting to seep down her thighs. 

“You smell so good.” Jaime inhales again, then hooks his fingers under the strings of the thong and tears it off her with a snap.

“That was Sansa’s,” Brienne can’t help saying, trying to ignore the way her stomach drops at Jaime’s urgency. 

“I’ll buy her a new one.” Then Jaime grabs Brienne’s ass with both hands and pulls her down so suddenly Brienne has no time to resist. 

Not that she wants to, because even the fear that she’ll suffocate him dims as she feels him lick her open. Brienne spares a moment to wonder if he’s disgusted by her hair, that she hasn’t shaved, that she’s so embarrassingly wet from almost nothing, but then all she can think about is Jaime.

Jaime’s tongue as he licks her slowly, then sucks on her clit briefly before moving to thrust his tongue inside her. He licks her like he’s starving and she’s the only thing he wants to eat, like there’s nothing better. Brienne can feel him moaning against her, the vibrations traveling through her. His hand kneads at her ass, the other one stroking up and down Brienne’s shaking thigh. 

Brienne tries to hold still, bracing herself with her hands, trying not to shake. But when her hips twitch, Jaime moans more and stops long enough to tell her to stop holding back.

“I want you to move,” Jaime says. “I want you to fuck yourself on my tongue.”

Brienne can’t even describe the sound she makes when he says that, and then Jaime returns to her with even more vigor. It isn’t long before Brienne does give in, grinding down on him, moving her hips to get his tongue where she wants it, where it feels best. She still feels like there’s something missing, she’s aching and empty somehow.

Brienne only realizes she’s saying that out loud, pleading with Jaime for something, when he breaks away again to reassure her, tell her he’ll take care of her. Then he’s sliding two fingers into her, so easy with how wet she is, and flicking his tongue across her clit. 

That’s what Brienne needs, something to clench around as she keeps chasing Jaime’s tongue with her hips until she’s shaking, shaking so much, and then Jaime closes his lips around her clit and sucks. Brienne only distantly realizes she’s the one screaming as Jaime keeps thrusting his fingers inside her, more roughly than she does alone, but it feels so good. Especially when he keeps sucking and worrying her clit with his tongue until her first orgasm rolls right into a second and then a third.

Brienne almost collapses then, and forces herself to pull away first, her arm giving way until she’s lying boneless on the bed. 

Jaime is gasping for air next to her, and Brienne thinks maybe she did suffocate him a little, but Jaime doesn’t seem to care about that. Or the fact that his face is wet, his beard sticky from her. 

“Fuck,” Jaime says. “You’re amazing. Fuck.” 

Brienne thinks she should probably do something to reciprocate, and she tries to reach for Jaime, but sleep is tugging at her already, her eyes growing heavy.

The last thing she’s aware of is Jaime laughing and running his hand over her arm, telling her it’s okay, and then sleep claims Brienne. 


	11. Accidental Nudes (J/B)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is trying to send the photo to Sansa, because she's worried. And now Jaime thinks she's sexting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a bingo prompt of one character accidentally sending another nudes.

The photo is supposed to go to Sansa. It's terribly embarrassing, and Brienne makes sure to turn off the sync function on her phone and delete the photo from her camera roll immediately, but she's still terrified it will get saved somewhere.

Sending a topless photo of herself anywhere is definitely not something Brienne would ever imagine herself doing. But she's desperate, not to mention stuck north of the wall for work, and she's seriously concerned about the weird mole on her boob.

It's probably not cancer.

Sansa's mother is a doctor, and Sansa swears up and down she'll delete the photo as soon as she's shown Catelyn and gotten an opinion. Brienne doesn't want to abandon her project and take time to go south to see a doctor unless she really needs to.

It's probably just a mole.

Brienne is a little surprised when Sansa doesn't respond right away, but she figures Catelyn is probably busy. Brienne just puts it out of her mind and goes to sleep.

The first thing Brienne sees when she wakes up is a text from Sansa, asking where the photo is. The second is a string of missed calls and texts from Jaime Lannister.

Brienne prays to all the gods what she thinks happened hasn't actually happened, but her stomach still turns over as she unlocks her phone.

First she opens the text message to Sansa, praying she'll see the little red exclamation point indicating a send error.

She doesn't.

All Brienne sees is her first message, asking Sansa to call her, and then Sansa's text asking about the photo.

The little phone at the bottom of the screen shows 27 missed calls.

Brienne's fingers shake as she opens the messages from Jaime.

Brienne feels like she's going to be ill.

Of course, of course Brienne would be cursed with the bad luck to accidentally send a nude photo to the most annoying and handsome man she's ever met.

Jaime had texted her with a question about the Lannister drilling project while she'd been in the middle of trying to take the photo of herself. It had flustered Brienne so much she'd dropped the phone, as if he could somehow tell what she was doing.

And so much so she'd apparently sent the photo to him instead of Sansa.

Oh gods.

Brienne drops the phone, again, and runs to the bathroom so she can be sick.

She and Jaime have been butting heads ever since Brienne started working on the Lannister project. Not surprisingly, since they have opposite aims. Brienne's job is to do an environmental survey of the lands north of the wall, and see what impact drilling might have on the environment. Jaime's job is to make sure his father's company gets approval to drill for oil, no matter what it does to the land.

Their last meeting, before Brienne and her team had gone to do the on-site survey, had resulted in a full-on screaming match in a conference room.

And now she's sent him a topless photo.

Brienne wonders for a moment: if she just walked outside in her pajamas (blue flannel, with little sailboats, not the pajamas of a woman who sends nudes to men), how long would it take to freeze to death?

Maybe she can quit her job.

Maybe she can get Jaime to delete the photo without looking.

Though the number of messages indicates it's probably too late for that.

Brienne considers ignoring the messages. She doesn't want to know what Jaime has to say to her.

Brienne can't do this. Not alone.

If she were home, in Winterfell, she'd call Sansa. If she were in King's Landing, she'd ... well, maybe Sansa's sister would be moral support. Or Margaery, Sansa's old roommate and Brienne's sort-of friend.

But no, Brienne is stuck north of the wall with nobody she knows other than her assistant, Pod.

She is not telling Pod about this.

Brienne needs a drink. And someone to talk her down from the ledge.

There is one option. Not someone Brienne would consider talking to about anything like this usually, but desperate times and all that.

Ygritte blinks sleepily when Brienne knocks on her door. The wildling woman who's acting as their guide is everything Brienne isn't — confident, loud, unabashedly sexual. 

"I need alcohol." 

Ygritte opens the door wider. "You don't strike me as the day-drinking type."

"I'm not." Brienne clutches her phone so tightly her knuckles are white.

Ygritte shrugs and pulls a mason jar from somewhere. Wildling moonshine, most likely, which Brienne still thinks would be better used as paint thinner.

That doesn't stop her from swallowing half the jelly glass Ygritte hands her in one go.

One and a half glasses later, the room is spinning gently around Brienne and she's able to tell Ygritte the whole story. Ygritte's eyes get bigger and bigger.

"Well, fuck me," Ygritte says when Brienne finishes. 

"I can't look at his messages," Brienne moans. "I just can't. But I can't go back unprepared, either." 

Ygritte motions for the phone. 

"If he ... you don't have to read the insults word for word," Brienne says. She can imagine well enough, the comments she's heard before about her lack of tits, her overly large shoulders, her freckled skin. "Just give me the general idea."

Oh god, the mole is so close to her nipple she hadn't been able to cover it, and she hadn't bothered with her other breast at that point. After all, it was just Catelyn and Sansa and Catelyn is a doctor, she sees all kinds of bodies all the time.

Ygritte sucks in a breath as she starts reading. It must be bad. 

"I'm going to have to quit my job," Brienne says. "Ned is going to kill me for ruining this contract."

Well, no, he won't. Ned Stark is extremely understanding. Somehow that makes it worse. 

"I don't think you'll have to do that," Ygritte says. 

"I can't face him, he's ...." Brienne flails a little. "He's so handsome, Ygritte, but he's mean, he's going to be horrible about it."

"Didn't know you were hiding that under your clothes," Ygritte says. 

Brienne blinks. It takes her a few minutes to realize Ygritte is reading the texts from Jaime. 

"How far down does your blush go? I'm surprised you aren't turning red already."

Well, as far as insults go, that's pretty mild. Extremely mild, actually. Suspiciously mild.

"I want to trace your freckles with my tongue," Ygritte reads. 

Brienne squeaks. "He did not say that!"

"Oh, he did." Ygritte grins. "Do they keep going down? I could play connect the dots with your whole body."

This ... does not make sense. 

"You have the prettiest nipples," Ygritte is still reading. "I want to suck on them til you beg me to fuck you. Are you as loud in bed as you are in an argument? I'd love to hear you scream."

Brienne lunges for the phone. Ygritte moves out of reach.

"And then he sent ... wow." Ygritte stares at the phone, her mouth hanging open a little. 

"I'm so hard for you," Ygritte reads. "Fuck, I wish you were here right now, I'd take you up against a wall. I'm strong enough."

Brienne finally gets the phone, only stumbling a little. She scrolls back and, holy shit, Ygritte isn't lying. 

And Jaime did send a photo. A photo of ... oh gods.

"He's hung like a horse," Ygritte says cheerfully. She refills Brienne's glass. "Lucky you."

"Not lucky me! He's not — I don't — this isn't —.” Brienne chugs more of the moonshine. It's starting to burn less. Or Brienne is caring less. She's really not sure. 

"Pretty sure he does." 

The phone buzzes. Jaime's number appears on screen. Brienne throws it across the room in shock.

Ygritte laughs.

"I can't talk to him," Brienne says.

"You're not interested?" Ygritte looks like that's a reasonable question to ask. Like Jaime isn't so handsome he could be a model.

Although, in fairness, Ygritte hasn't seen his _face_.

"It doesn't matter if I am," Brienne says. The phone, across the room, goes quiet. "Men like him don't like women like me."

Ygritte snorts. "Those texts tell a different story. So does that photo."

Brienne shakes her head. "No, no. He isn't — that couldn't be for me."

Men do not get ... aroused by Brienne. It doesn't happen. It's a constant of the universe, like the sky being blue and gravity.

"You can't even say it, can you?" Ygritte laughs. "You're like a blushing virgin."

Brienne drops her head into her hands. Maybe she can just disappear if she tries hard enough. Become one with Ygritte's table. It's a nice table. 

"Oh, fuck me," Ygritte says again. "You are." 

Brienne moans a little. How is this her life? How is this happening to her? She tries so hard to be a good person and do the right thing, why are the gods punishing her like this?

Brienne only realizes she's been saying it out loud when Ygritte grabs her hair and pulls it until Brienne sits up and looks at her. 

"Maybe the gods are helping you," Ygritte says. "You clearly need it."

"He doesn't even like me," Brienne wails. "We fight constantly."

"Foreplay," Ygritte says. "Some men never mature past pulling your pigtails on the playground."

Of all the things Ygritte has said about Jaime, that one makes the most sense to Brienne. Not the flirting part, the immaturity part. 

"And clearly his cock likes you." Ygritte keeps going. For all the moonshine they've been drinking, she seems very steady. Brienne's lips are tingling and the room seems to be tilting to one side. 

Brienne's phone starts buzzing again. 

Brienne whimpers and buries her head in her hands. "Are you hiring? I could just stay here."

Ygritte doesn't answer, and Brienne is immediately suspicious. Too late she realizes Ygritte has darted across the room to retrieve Brienne's phone and is talking to it with a sly grin.

"She's a bit indisposed," Ygritte is saying. She laughs. "You've broken her."

"Hang up," Brienne whispers. Or tries to whisper. She doesn't think she succeeds. 

"Well I'm not sure it was meant for you," Ygritte says. "She's turned redder than a fire engine."

The response from Jaime — because it has to be Jaime, who else? — isn't clear enough for Brienne to make out but it's definitely loud. And angry.

"Good question," Ygritte says to the phone. She turns to Brienne. "If it wasn't for him, who were you sexting?"

"I was not sexting," Brienne yells. Loudly enough for Jaime to hear it. 

"Looks like sexting," Ygritte says. Brienne isn't sure if it's her saying it or if she's relaying a comment from Jaime.

"I have a mole," Brienne says, gritting her teeth. Maybe she can still smoothe this over. "I was sending it to a friend whose mother is a doctor."

"Huh." Ygritte wanders over, phone still to her ear, clearly not paying much attention. She motions at Brienne.

Brienne stares blankly.

Ygritte rolls her eyes. "Show me your tit."

Brienne crosses her arms over her chest reflexively.

"Oh, wouldn't you like that," Ygritte says to the phone, in a flirty voice. Then turns back to Brienne. "The mole, Brienne, I'm not going to molest you."

Brienne shakes her head.

"Well if you won't show me, let me call my friend Gilly. She's mostly a midwife, but she can do other health checks too. Don't get many real docs up this way."

"Can we maybe talk about this when you're not on the phone?"

Ygritte seems to realize she's still on the line. 

"She might take some convincing," Ygritte says, ignoring the way Brienne is shaking her head and gesturing no. "Maybe take some more photos while you're waiting."

Brienne groans. Ygritte grins.

This is terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swore up and down this would be a one shot for a bingo prompt, but I already have other ideas. So hey. Yeah. Why am I incapable of short thing?

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is from one of my favorite songs from my favorite band. It's best enjoyed [as a video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCnc9QrKT0Y) because it's just not the same if you can't see Matt ... being Matt.


End file.
